MANSON ADMITTED MURDERS, SPAHN RANCH COWBOY CLAIMS

Kanarek’s objections kept out another piece of extremely damaging evidence.

One night in June or July 1969, Manson, Juan, and three male Family members were driving through Chatsworth when Charlie stopped in front of a “rich house” and instructed Juan to go in and tie up the people. When he’d finished, Manson said, he was to open the door and, to quote Manson, “We’ll come in and cut the motherfucking pigs up.” Juan had said, “No thanks.”

This was in effect a dress rehearsal for the Tate-LaBianca murders. But ruling that “the prejudicial effect far outweighs the probative value,” Older wouldn’t permit me to question Juan about this.

I was also unable, for the same reason, to get in a comment Manson made to Juan: “Adolf Hitler had the best answer to everything.”

That answer, of course, was murder, but, owing to Kanarek’s objections, neither of these two incidents was heard by the jury or ever made public.

On cross-examination Fitzgerald brought out an interesting anomaly. Even after Manson had allegedly threatened him, not once but several times, Juan still stuck around. After the raid he’d even accompanied the Family to Death Valley, remaining with them a couple of weeks before splitting to join Crockett, Poston, and Watkins.

That had puzzled me too. One possible explanation was that, as Juan testified, at first he had thought Manson was “bullshitting” about the murders, that “nobody in their right mind is going to kill somebody and then boast about it.” Also, Juan was easygoing and slow to anger. Probably more important, Juan was an independent cuss; like Paul Crockett, who didn’t leave Death Valley until long after Manson threatened to kill him, he didn’t like to be intimidated.

Kanarek picked up on Fitzgerald’s discovery. “Now, Mr. Flynn, were you scared to be at the Myers Ranch with Mr. Manson?”

A. “Well, I was aware and precautious.”

Q. “Just answer the question, Mr. Flynn. I understand you are an actor, but would you just answer the question please.”

A. “Well, I liked it there, you know, because I wanted to think nice things, you know. But every time I walked around the corner, well, that seemed to be the main subject, you know, about how many times they could do me in. Then, finally, I just left.”

Q. “Now, Mr. Flynn, will you tell me how you were aware and precautious? How did you protect yourself?”

A. “Well, I just protected myself by leaving.”

Kanarek brought out that when Flynn was interviewed by Sartuchi he’d said nothing about Manson putting a knife to his throat. “You were holding that back, is that it, Mr. Flynn, to spring on us in this courtroom, is that right?”

A. “No, I told the officers about this before, you see.”

Ignoring Flynn’s response, Kanarek said: “You mean, Mr. Flynn, that you made it up for the purposes of this courtroom, is that correct, Mr. Flynn?”

Kanarek was charging that Flynn had recently fabricated his testimony. I made a note of this, though as yet unaware how important this bit of dialogue would soon be.

After focusing on all the things I had brought out which were not in the Sartuchi interview, Kanarek asked Juan when he first mentioned the knife incident to anyone.

A. “Well, there was some officers in Shoshone, you see, and I talked to them.” Flynn, however, couldn’t recall their names.

Kanarek strongly implied, several times, that Flynn was fictionalizing his story. Juan didn’t take kindly to being called a liar. You could see his temper rising.

Intent on proving that Flynn was testifying so he could further his movie career (Juan had had bit parts in several Westerns), Kanarek asked: “You recognize, do you not, that there is lots of publicity in this case against Mr. Manson, right?”

A. “Well, it is the type of publicity that I wouldn’t want, you big catfish.”

THE COURT “On that note, Mr. Kanarek, we will adjourn.”

A fter court I questioned Juan about the Shoshone interview. He thought one of the officers was from the California Highway Patrol, but he wasn’t sure. That evening I called the DA’s Office in Independence and learned that the man who had interviewed Juan was a CHP officer named Dave Steuber. Late that night I finally located him in Fresno, California. Yes, he’d interviewed Flynn, as well as Crockett, Poston, and Watkins, on December 19, 1969. He’d taped the whole conversation, which had lasted over nine hours. Yes, he still had the original tapes.

I checked my calendar. I guessed Flynn would be on the stand another day or two. Could Steuber be in L.A. in three days with the tapes and prepared to testify? Sure, Steuber said.

Steuber then told me something I found absolutely incredible. He had already made a copy of the tapes and given it to LAPD. On December 29, 1969 . Later I learned the identity of the LAPD detective to whom the tapes had been given. The officer (since deceased) recalled receiving the tapes but admitted he hadn’t played them. He thought he had given them to someone, but couldn’t remember to whom. All he knew was that he no longer had them.

Perhaps it was because the interview was so long, nine hours. Or perhaps, it being the holiday season, in the confusion they were mislaid. Neither explanation, however, erases the unpleasant fact that as early as December 1969 the Los Angeles Police Department had a taped interview containing a statement in which Manson implied that he was responsible for the Tate-LaBianca murders, and as far as can be determined, no one even bothered to book it into evidence, much less play it.

Ordinarily there would have been no way I could introduce the Steuber tape into evidence at the trial, for you cannot use a previously consistent statement to bolster a witness’s testimony. However, there is an exception to that rule: such evidence is admissible if the opposing side contends the witness’s testimony was recently fabricated and the prior consistent statement was made before the declarant had any reason to fabricate. When Kanarek asked, “You mean, Mr. Flynn, that you made it up for the purposes of this courtroom, is that correct, Mr. Flynn?” he was charging recent fabrication, and opening the door for me to bring the prior consistent statement in.

A lot of doors were opened on cross-examination, but at first the biggest did not look like a door at all. The defense had made much of the fact that Juan did not tell his story to the authorities until long after the events occurred. With this opening, I argued, I should be allowed to bring out the reason why: he was in fear of his life.

Responding to Kanarek’s objection, Older said: “You can’t go into all of these things on cross and expect the other side to do nothing about them, Mr. Kanarek. You can’t paint them in a corner and say they can’t work their way out.”

Juan was permitted to testify that he didn’t go to the police because “I didn’t think it was safe for me to do that, you see. I got a couple of threat notes…”

Actually, Juan had received three such notes, all handed him by Family members, the last as late as two weeks ago, when Squeaky and Larry Jones had discovered that Juan was living in John Swartz’ trailer in Canoga Park. Arguing against their admission, Fitzgerald made an interesting statement: “My life has been threatened three times, and I haven’t come forward and talked about it.”

BUGLIOSI “Has the prosecution threatened you?”

FITZGERALD “No, I am not saying that.” He didn’t elaborate.

Older ruled that Juan could testify to the notes, though not the identities of the persons who gave them to him. Juan also testified to the hang-up calls, the cars that raced past in the night, their occupants oinking and screaming, “Motherfucker!” and “Pig!”

I asked him: “And you considered these threats, is that correct?”

A. “Well, they sounded, you know, pretty strong to me.”

Q. “Are those among the reasons why you didn’t want to come downtown and talk?”

A. “Well, this was one of the reasons, yes.”

Q. “Because of fear of your life?”

A. “Yes.”

When I asked about the other reasons, Juan described how Manson, Clem, and Tex had creepy-crawled Crockett’s cabin at Barker Ranch.

All of this came in because the defense so gratuitously opened the door on cross.

Because Kanarek had questioned Juan about Manson’s “programming” of Family members, I was able to bring in a conversation Manson had with Juan in which he explained that he had to “unprogram” his followers to remove the programming placed upon them by their parents, schools, churches, and society. To get rid of the ego, Manson told him, you had to obliterate “all the wants that you had…give up your mother and father…all the inhibitions…just blank yourself out.”

Since Manson’s techniques differed depending on whether his subject was male or female, I asked what Manson had said about unprogramming the girls. I didn’t anticipate that Juan would go into the detail he did.

A. “Well, he says, you know, to get rid of the inhibitions, you know, you could just take a couple of girls and, you know, have them lay down, you know, and have them eat each other, or for me to take a girl up in the hills, you know, and just lie back and let her suck my dick all day long…”

KANAREK “Your Honor, Your Honor! May we approach the bench, Your Honor?”

Earlier one of the alternate jurors had written Judge Older a letter complaining about the sexual explicitness of some of the testimony. I didn’t look at him, but I suspected he must be having apoplexy. As I passed the counsel table on the way to the bench, I told Manson, “Don’t worry, Charlie, I’m keeping all the bad stuff out.”

Older struck the entire answer as nonresponsive.

I asked Juan: “Did Mr. Manson discuss with you—without going into what he said, Juan —plans that he had to ‘unprogram’ the people in the Family?” When he replied “Yes,” I let it go at that.

What Manson never explained to his Family was that in the process of unprogramming them, he was reprogramming them to be his abject slaves.

Throughout his cross-examination Kanarek had implied, as he had with many of the earlier witnesses, that Juan had been coached by me. I thought Kanarek was going to do this again, for the umpteenth time, when on recross he started: “Mr. Flynn, when a question is asked of you that you think may not help the prosecution in this case—”

BUGLIOSI “Oh, stop arguing.”

KANAREK “Your Honor, he’s interrupting!”

BUGLIOSI “Be quiet.”

THE COURT “Mr. Bugliosi, now, I’m not going to warn you again, sir.”

BUGLIOSI “What’s he doing, Your Honor? He’s accusing me of something and I don’t like it.”

THE COURT “Approach the bench.”

BUGLIOSI “I am not going to take it. I’ve had it up to here.”

My indignation was as much a matter of trial tactics as anything else. If I let Kanarek get away with the same trick time after time, the jury might assume there was some truth to his charges. At the bench I told Older: “I’m not going to be accused of a serious offense by this guy day in and day out.”

THE COURT “That’s absurd. You interrupted Mr. Kanarek. You made outrageous statements in front of the jury…I find you in direct contempt of Court, and I fine you fifty dollars.”

To the amusement of the clerk, I had to call my wife to come down and pay the fine. Later the deputy DAs in the office put up a buck each for a “Bugliosi Defense Fund” and reimbursed her.

As with the earlier citation of Hughes, I felt if I was in contempt of anyone, it was Kanarek, not the Court. The following day, for the record, I responded to the contempt, noting among other things that “in the future I would ask the Court to please consider two obvious points: this is a hotly contested trial and tempers become a little frayed; and also take into consideration what Mr. Kanarek is doing which incites a response on my part.”

With my citation, we now had a perfect score: every attorney involved in the trial had been either cited for contempt or threatened with it.

T he defense tried their best to ridicule Juan’s fear of Manson.

Hughes brought out that since Manson was locked up, it was hardly likely he could hurt anyone; did Mr. Flynn actually expect the jury to believe that he was afraid of Mr. Manson?

Juan might have been speaking for all the prosecution witnesses when he answered: “Well, not of Mr. Manson himself, but the reach that he has, you know.”

B y now I could see the pattern. The more damaging the testimony, the more chance Manson would create a disturbance, thereby assuring that he—and not the evidence itself—would get the day’s headlines. Juan Flynn’s testimony was hurting him badly. Several times while Flynn was on the stand, Older had to order Manson and the girls removed because of their outbursts. When it happened again, on October 2, Manson turned to the spectators and said: “Look at yourselves. Where are you going? You’re going to destruction, that’s where you’re going.” He then smiled a very odd little smile, and added, “It’s your Judgment Day, not mine. ”

Again the girls parroted Manson, and Older ordered all four removed.

K anarek was livid. I’d just showed the judge the transcript pages where Kanarek accused Flynn of lying. Older ruled: “There is no question: there was an implied, if not express, charge of recent fabrication.” Highway patrolman Dave Steuber would be permitted to play that portion of the taped interview dealing with Manson’s incriminating admission.[75]

After establishing the circumstances of the interview, Steuber set up the tape recorder and began playing the tape at the point where the statement had begun. There is something about such physical evidence that deeply impresses a jury. Again, in words very similar to those they had heard him use when he was on the stand, the jurors heard Juan say: “Then he was looking at me real funny…And then he grabbed me by the hair like that, and he put a knife by my throat…And then he says, ‘Don’t you know I’m the one who is doing all the killings?’”

Monday, October 5, 1970. Bailiff Bill Murray later said he had a very strong feeling that something was going to happen. You get a kind of sixth sense dealing with prisoners day after day, he said, noting that when he brought Manson into the lockup he was acting very tense and edgy.

Although they had made no assurances that they would conduct themselves properly, Older gave the defendants still another chance, permitting them to return to the courtroom.

The testimony was dull, undramatic. There was, at this point, no clue as to its importance, though I had a feeling Charlie just might suspect what I was up to. Through a series of witnesses, I was laying the groundwork for destroying Manson’s anticipated alibi.

LASO detective Paul Whiteley had just finished testifying, and the defense attorneys had declined to cross-examine him, when Manson asked: “May I examine him, Your Honor?”

THE COURT “No, you may not.”

MANSON “You are going to use this courtroom to kill me?”

Older told the witness he could step down. Manson asked the question a second time, adding, “I am going to fight for my life one way or another. You should let me do it with words.”

THE COURT “If you don’t stop, I will have to have you removed.”

MANSON “I will have you removed if you don’t stop. I have a little system of my own. ”

Not until Manson made that very startling admission did I realize that this time he wasn’t playacting but deadly serious.

THE COURT “Call your next witness.”

BUGLIOSI “Sergeant Gutierrez.”

MANSON “Do you think I’m kidding? ”

It happened in less time than it takes to describe it. With a pencil clutched in his right hand, Manson suddenly leaped over the counsel table in the direction of Judge Older. He landed just a few feet from the bench, falling on one knee. As he was struggling to his feet, bailiff Bill Murray leaped too, landing on Manson’s back. Two other deputies quickly joined in and, after a brief struggle, Manson’s arms were pinned. As he was being propelled to the lockup, Manson screamed at Older: “In the name of Christian justice, someone should cut your head off! ”

Adding to the bedlam, Atkins, Krenwinkel, and Van Houten stood and began chanting something in Latin. Older, much less disturbed than I would have expected, gave them not one but several chances to stop, then ordered them removed also.

According to the bailiffs, Manson continued to fight even after he had been taken into the lockup, and it took four men to put cuffs on him.

Fitzgerald asked if counsel might approach the bench. For the record, Judge Older described exactly how he had viewed the incident. Fitzgerald asked if he might inquire as to the judge’s state of mind.

THE COURT “He looked like he was coming for me.”

FITZGERALD “I was afraid of that, and although—”

THE COURT “If he had taken one more step, I would have done something to defend myself.”

Because of the judge’s state of mind, Fitzgerald said, he felt it incumbent upon him to move for a mistrial. Hughes, Shinn, and Kanarek joined. Older replied: “It isn’t going to be that easy, Mr. Fitzgerald…They are not going to profit from their own wrong…Denied.”

Out of curiosity, after court Murray measured the distance of Manson’s leap: ten feet.

Murray wasn’t too surprised. Manson had very powerful leg and arm muscles. He was constantly exercising in the lockup. Asked why, he’d once told a bailiff: “I’m toughening myself up for the desert.”

Murray tried to re-create his own leap. Without that sudden shot of adrenaline, he couldn’t even jump up on the counsel table.

Though Judge Older instructed the jury to “disregard what you saw and what you have heard here this morning,” I knew that as long as they lived they’d never forget it.

All the masks had been dropped. They’d seen the real face of Charles Manson.

From a reliable source, I learned that after the incident Judge Older began wearing a .38 caliber revolver under his robes, both in court and in chambers.

J udgment Day. Echoing Manson, the girls waiting outside on the corner spoke of it in conspiratorial whispers. “Wait till Judgment Day. That’s when Helter Skelter will really come down.”

Judgment Day. What was it? A plan to break out Manson? An orgy of retribution?

As important was the question of when. The day the jury returned their verdict of “Not guilty” or “Guilty”? Or, if the latter, the day the same jury decided “Life” or “Death”? Or perhaps the day of sentencing itself? Or might it even be tomorrow?

Judgment Day. We began to hear those words more and more often. Without explanation. As yet unaware that the first phase of Judgment Day had already begun, with the theft, from Camp Pendleton Marine Base, of a case of hand grenades.

OCTOBER 6–31, 1970

Some weeks earlier, on returning to my office after court, I’d found a phone message from attorney Robert Steinberg, who was now representing Virginia Graham.

On the advice of her previous attorney, Virginia Graham had withheld some information. Steinberg had urged her to give this information to me. “Specifically,” the phone message read, “Susan Atkins laid out detailed plans to Miss Graham concerning other planned murders, including the murders of Frank Sinatra and Elizabeth Taylor.”

Since I was very busy, I arranged to have one of the co-prosecutors, Steve Kay, interview her.

According to Virginia, a few days after Susan Atkins told her about the Hinman, Tate, and LaBianca murders—probably on November 8 or 9, 1969—Susan had walked over to Virginia’s bed at Sybil Brand and begun leafing through a movie magazine. It reminded her, Susan said, about some other murders she had been planning.

She had decided to kill Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, Susan matter-of-factly stated. She was going to heat a knife red-hot and put it against the side of Elizabeth Taylor’s face. This was more or less to leave her mark. Then she’d carve the words “helter skelter” on her forehead. After which, she was going to gouge her eyes out—Charlie had shown her how—and—

Virginia interrupted to ask what Richard Burton was supposed to be doing during all this.

Oh, both would be tied up, Susan said. Only this time the rope would be around their necks and their feet, so they couldn’t get away “like the others.”

Then, Susan continued, she would castrate Burton, placing his penis, as well as Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes, in a bottle. “And dig this, would you!” Susan laughed. “And then I’d mail it to Eddie Fisher!”

As for Tom Jones, another of her intended victims, she planned to force him to have sex with her, at knife point, and then, just as he was climaxing, she would slit his throat.

Steve McQueen was also on the list. Before Susan could explain what she had in mind for McQueen, Virginia interrupted, saying, “Sadie, you can’t just walk up to these people and kill them!”

That would be no problem, Susan said. It was easy to find out where they lived. Then she’d simply creepy-crawl them, “just like I did to Tate.”

She had something choice for Frank Sinatra, Susan continued. She knew that Frank liked girls. She’d just walk up to his door and knock. Her friends, she said, would be waiting outside. Once inside, they’d hang Sinatra upside down, then, while his own music was playing, skin him alive. After which they’d make purses out of the skin and sell them to hippie shops, “so everyone would have a little piece of Frank.”

She had come to the conclusion, Susan said, that the victims had to be people of importance, so the whole world would know.

Shortly after this, Virginia terminated the conversation with Susan. When asked by Steve Kay why she hadn’t come forward with the story before this, Virginia explained that it was just so insane that she didn’t think anyone would believe her. Even her former attorney had advised her to say nothing about it.

Were these Sadie’s own plans, or Charlie’s? Knowing as much as I did about Susan Atkins, I doubted if all this came from her. Though I had no proof, it was a reasonable inference that she had probably picked up these ideas from Manson.

In any case, it didn’t matter. Reading a transcript of the taped interview, I knew I’d never be able to introduce any of this in evidence: legally, its relevance to the Tate-LaBianca murders was negligible, and whatever limited relevance it did have would be outweighed by its extremely prejudicial effect.

Though Virginia Graham’s statement was useless as evidence, a copy of it was made available to each of the defense attorneys under discovery.

It would soon make its own kind of legal history.

A lthough it was Ronnie Howard who first went to the police, I called Virginia Graham to the stand first, since Susan had initially confessed to her.

Her testimony was unusually dramatic, since this was the first time the jury had heard what had happened inside the Tate residence.

S ince their testimony was only against Susan Atkins, only Shinn cross-examined Graham and Howard. His attack was less on their statements than their backgrounds. He brought out, for example, sixteen different aliases Ronnie Howard had used. He also asked her if she made a lot of money as a prostitute.

Asking him to approach the bench, Older said, “You know the rules, Mr. Shinn. Don’t give me that wide-eyed innocent stare and pretend you don’t know what I am talking about.”

SHINN “Does Your Honor mean I cannot ask a person their occupation?”

The prosecution had made no “deals” with either Virginia Graham or Ronnie Howard. Howard had been acquitted on the forgery charge, while Graham had served out her full sentence at Corona. In both cases, however, Shinn did bring up the reward. When he asked Ronnie if she knew about the $25,000, she bluntly answered: “I think I am entitled to it.”

On redirect I asked each: “Are you aware that testifying in court is not a prerequisite to collecting the money?” Objection. Sustained. But the point was made.

The letters Susan Atkins had written to her former cellmates, Ronnie Howard, Jo Stevenson, and Kitt Fletcher, were very incriminating. Although I was prepared to call a handwriting expert to testify to their authenticity, Shinn, in order to save time, stipulated that Susan had written them. However, before they could be introduced in evidence, we had to “Arandize” them, excising any references to Atkins’ co-defendants. This was done in chambers, outside the presence of the jury.

Kanarek fought to exclude almost every line. Disgusted at his constant objections, Fitzgerald complained to Older: “I don’t have the rest of my life to spend here.” Older, equally disgusted, told Kanarek: “I would suggest that you use a little more discretion and not try to clutter up the record with motions, objections, and statements which any ten-year-old child can see are either nonsense or totally irrelevant…”

Yet time and again Kanarek pointed out subtleties the other defense attorneys missed. For example, Susan had written Ronnie: “When I first heard you were the informer I wanted to slit your throat. Then I snapped that I was the real informer and it was my throat I wanted to cut.”

You don’t “inform” on yourself, Kanarek argued; you “confess.” This implied that other people were involved.

After nineteen pages of argument, much of it very sophisticated, we finally edited this particular section to read: “When I first heard you were the informer I wanted to slit your throat. Then I snapped that it was my throat I wanted to cut.”

Kanarek wanted the line “Love Love Love” excluded from the Stevenson letter because “it refers to Manson.”

THE COURT “It sounds more like Gertrude Stein.”

Since the “Love” references were among the few favorable things in Susan’s letters, Shinn fought to retain them, remarking, “What do you want to do, make a killer out of her?”

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 692